


Devotion

by Humanity_Sucks2002



Series: Bellamort One-Shots [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Mark (Harry Potter), F/M, First War with Voldemort, Inspired By Tumblr, Oneshot, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Writing Prompt, Young Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humanity_Sucks2002/pseuds/Humanity_Sucks2002
Summary: “Have you ever done something for someone else in your life?”“No.” He smirked.“Well, you’re about to.”
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Voldemort
Series: Bellamort One-Shots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2188704
Kudos: 17





	Devotion

“Have you ever done something for someone else in your life?”

“No.” He smirked.

“Well, you’re about to.”

“Am I really, Miss Black?” The Dark Lord regarded her with a look somewhere between fury and interest at the bold request.

Bellatrix Black, a woman vying for the dark mark, stood before him in his office, arms behind her back, her long pale fingers wrapping around her own wrist like a shackle. On those long fingers Voldemort knew lay a fresh engagement ring. Young Le-Strange had proposed to her the night before, the whole pureblood world was abuzz with the news. Lord Voldemort did not make it a point to care about who is supporters married, so long as they married the right sort of person, but this engagement had caught his attention. How could it not? The heir to the house of Le-Strange marrying the eldest daughter of the house of Black: their parents had done well to secure it.

Still, Voldemort found himself mildly irritated by the whole affair. The wedding would be large, extravagant and most likely extremely traditional. Traditional more as a political statement, rather than because the young couple was desperate for such a thing. The houses of Le-Strange and Black would not be forced into change by the ministry or anyone else. Whilst that was a good thing for the cause on one hand, on the other it would distract from the work he was attempting to do. Regular soldiers would be preoccupied with planning table displays and flower arrangements over battle strategy. All of his inner circle would be attending, so no work whatsoever would get done on that day. And, possibly worst of all, he would be expected to make an appearance. There was no party more insufferable to him than a wedding.

“And what is it that you ask of your Lord?” He asked, venomously.

Bellatrix was not outwardly affected by his tone. Posture still formal yet relaxed. Her face neutral, but her eyes betrayed her. Jet black eyes made darker by thoughts swirling within. She was distractingly beautiful – like a figure carved in marble. Her features were sharp, hard, yet elegant and aristocratic. Dark, waved hair was swooped over one shoulder, exposing her neck on the left-hand side. A string of Tahitian pearls was strung around her neck, tantalisingly. Spheres of darkness stood out against her frankly translucent skin. She could probably do with spending some more time in the sun. Lord Voldemort may have considered desire to be beneath him, but looking at Bellatrix Black had him seriously considering dropping those morals for a brief moment.

“I would ask to take the mark before my wedding, my lord.” She announced, her voice deep for a woman and rich. He did enjoy the sound of her voice, but that enjoyment did nothing to stop the surprise he felt at what she had said. Bellatrix Black had never been anything other than respectful to him, more respectful than any of the others if he was honest with himself, and this demand was a surprise coming from her.

“Would you? And what makes you think that I was going to give you the mark, at all?”

It was a redundant question. Voldemort knew that. Of course, he was going to give her the mark: Bellatrix was the most talented person that had ever shown an interest in the cause, loathe he was to admit it. Dark magic surrounded the Black heiress like miasma. He’d watched her stand, transfixed, as he’d demonstrated different dark curses for the recruits to try. He’d watched her beautiful eyes gleeful as a victim twitched beneath her wand, wrapped in the scarlet of a crutiatus curse. He’s watched her chest heaving, breathing deeply, as he’d tested the new recruit’s stamina, after she’d finished the race before any of the others. He’d watched her wine and dine at parties, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. Everything came so easily to her and she clearly enjoyed herself while doing it.

“I am the best of the new recruits.” She said, confidently, speaking fact. “I can out-duel any of them, I am more powerful, magically speaking, than any of them, my political position will be more useful to you, my lord, than any of the others. I am physically fit – which is more than recruits like Yaxley can say – and I am loyal to the cause. Forgive me, my lord, but it would be ridiculous for you not to give me the mark.”

“You speak very highly of yourself, Miss Black.” Her family was known for their arrogance. Lord Voldemort reaalised that he should have expected no less from her.

“You should always be your own loudest supporter, my lord.” Bellatrix smiled, knowingly, repeating the phrase she’d clearly been told by family members many times. Her smile was charming, and it irritated Lord Voldemort immensely, mainly because her charms were on the verge of working. He would not allow her to be in control.

“Indeed, you should.” Voldemort decided to let her finish before punishing her. He raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms, and leant back in his office chair. “I was planning on giving you the mark the next time I was to perform a marking ceremony.” He could see that his words had Bellatrix preening, like a swan fixing her feathers. A black swan on a still lake. Vain little girl, he thought, but was that pride wrong when it was deserved? “Why do you want to take the mark before your wedding?”

“My father, and soon to be Father-in-Law, would not be pleased if I was to take the mark after my wedding. They see it as a ‘betrayal’ of the marriage vows. They don’t care that Rodolphus has the mark. They have claimed it is because it was a vow taken before marriage, I believe that they would have me be a trophy wife. I don’t want that for myself.”

Ah. It made sense now. Cygnus Black III and François Le-Strange didn’t want their hard-won agreement meddled with by the Cause. Too bad for them, they had underestimated Miss Black’s resolve to be a part of it. Cygnus had never been totally thrilled with the idea of his daughter going into battle: this had to be his final shot at preventing that end. Voldemort supposed that it was understandable, even if he had absolutely no intention of conforming to Cygnus’ wishes. He’d never liked the man anyway.

“And what does Le-Strange think?”

“He is loyal to you, my lord.” Bellatrix said, avoidantly.

“That does not answer the question, Miss Black.” Voldemort hissed, not happy that she would dare not to answer him. Of course, he was loyal – Voldemort had seen into his mind many times. He had seen much in there about Bellatrix, which thoughts he had steered clear of. He did not think he would be able to control himself if he did. He was too close to doing so on his own, he did not need Le-Strange adding any fuel to the fire.

“He will learn to live with it.” She admitted after a moment. So, he was not happy with it then? Interesting. Had Le-Strange not seen the talent his fiancée harboured? Lord Voldemort did not understand why a husband would try to squash the talent of the wife, if they were supposed to be a partnership. It did not seem that there was any good reason why. Had Bellatrix not come to him now, Voldemort would have made her a deatheater anyway: what did Rodolphus think he would be able to do about that? Perhaps, as Bellatrix had said, he was just planning on putting up with it resentfully.

“You had better be right about that. I will have no infighting. You will work together, or I will expel you both.” There was a tension placed on the word ‘expel’. She was well aware that he did not mean that they would be kicked out of the deatheaters. She knew the penalty for failure in his ranks.

“Of course, my lord. I wish only to serve you.” Bellatrix bowed reverently to him, her hair falling in front of her face as she did so. Her blouse was low cut. It was distracting.

“Sunday – midnight. You will come to Malfoy manor and you will take the mark, Miss Black.” Lord Voldemort decided, and announced immediately. He would not be deprived of such a powerful, devoted follower, Cygnus, François and Rodolphus be damned.

“Oh! Thank you! Thank you, my lord!” Bellatrix cried out, joyfully, a wide smile on her perfect face. He could see her breathe a sigh of relief. He could not allow that either.

“Ah – I have not finished.” He put a hand up, quelling her joy immediately. There was a look of fear in her eyes as he did it. Good, he thought.

“However, Miss Black, I will not accept any more of the insolence you have demonstrated today.” He punctuated the reprimand with a powerful, silent crutiatus curse. Completely unprepared, Bellatrix let out a tortured scream. She fell to her knees hard, they would be badly bruised in the morning, her fingers scratched at the desk as she did so, the long nails lightly scratching down the polished wood.

Voldemort watched her pain with interest, but did not rise from his chair. She really was beautiful. Face contorted violently; Bellatrix Black still resembled a painting. A portrait done by a true master. The Le-Strange boy did not deserve her, especially if he did not want her to achieve her full potential.

“You will do as I say. My orders are final. I will not accept cheek or insubordination of any sort. You may be talented, Miss Black, but I will not hesitate with your execution if you fail me. Do you understand?” He asked, as his final message. His tone sounded more like a kindly professor than a dark wizard there. Purposeful – he enjoyed the irony of it as she still writhed in pain under the crutiatus. He expected a response from her, and refused to release the spell. Realising that it was a test, tears of pain bubbling up in her eyes, Bellatrix cried out.

“Yes – yes my lord!”

“Yes what?” Voldemort did not release the spell, increasing her agony ten-fold in fact.

“I understand!” She shrieked, nails digging into the woven, wool rung beneath her, in a vain attempt to help with the pain.

Pleased with this result, Voldemort released the curse. For a moment, Bellatrix lay flat on the floor breathing deeply in a out. Her cheeks were pink from the strain, making her look actually human rather than made from marble. He knew her head would be pounding, all muscles sore. He caught himself considering rising from the desk chair and helping her up. Disgusted at his own mind, he scowled.

“You may leave.” He said coldly, looking away from her.

Voldemort heard rather than saw Bellatrix Black get to her feet. Clearly pained, but not complaining, Bellatrix rose, straightened out her crumpled green dress, smoothed her hair. She breathed out, with a smile.

“Thank you, my lord. I will not let you down.” She said, the smile morphing a little into one of a different purpose. It was darker, clearly flirtatious, and Voldemort did not trust himself not to take advantage of her interest. She was to marry another one of his soldiers. The daughter of the most powerful house of the Sacred 28. A powerful dark witch. No. It would be inappropriate.

“I don’t doubt that, Bellatrix.” He responded, and immediately regretted using her first name. Her smile grew, but she said nothing. Bellatrix merely bowed, and took her leave just as he commanded. As she reached the door to his office, she looked back towards him, over her shoulder, her dark eyes making direct eye contact with his red.

“Till Sunday, my lord.”

“Till Sunday.” He replied, nodding in farewell. She slipped out of the door quietly, he heard the heels of her boots clicking as she walked away along the parquet floor. Voldemort sighed. He had a feeling that Bellatrix was going to end up as a prominent deatheater, deeply involved in his life. He could not promise himself that this would not escalate. He just hoped that he would have enough self-control when the time came.

**Author's Note:**

> The first three lines of this was a writing prompt from tumblr. 
> 
> Thought I'd try something canon-compliant this time, so this happened lol


End file.
